


Shattered

by technicolorCarbon



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Abuse, Casey - Freeform, Child Abuse, Gratuitous Child Abuse at that, Horrifying in the worst ways, M/M, Sadstuck, Spanish, crazy mommas, crazy religious, spoiler alert Dad adopts him eventually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 06:45:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/606966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/technicolorCarbon/pseuds/technicolorCarbon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was happy when he was five.</p>
<p>He learned new ways to hurt when he was six.</p>
<p>He got religion when he was seven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shattered

**Author's Note:**

> I figured the abuse contained herein warranted those archive tags. It's a little dark, but I tend to write a lot of abuse, so get used to it?
> 
> PS this still makes me sad and I wrote it, so please don't continue if you're triggered by child abuse or rape or that kind of stuff
> 
> i don't actually know where this is going

—

 

He is going to be six tomorrow.

He crosses off the day on his Criss Angel calendar –”April the twelve, two circle circle one,” –and sniffles again, wiping a mixture of blood and tears on his shirt.

He is turning six tomorrow, and there is no way his daddy is going to make him any more sad than he is right now. He is determined that tomorrow will be the best day of the _entire year_ , and he is going to do his very best to make it so.

Even if daddy hits him again, he’s not going to cry, and he makes that promise to his tattered stuffed bunny, Casey.

“Daddy’s sssssleeping,” he says softly, pulling lovingly at a long ear. He likes the letter ‘S’ at the moment, and whenever he speaks, (only when he’s alone, out of fear,) he drags them out with a sense of amusement.

“We can play now!”

His daddy never likes it when John plays with Casey during the day, or when he’s around at all. Daddy hates Casey.

So Casey has her own special box now, lined with the ragged remains of his favorite T-shirt, and she only gets pulled out at night, and played with silently.

As he and Casey reenact a scene from his favorite movie, yet again, he yawns and giggles excitedly, for once too happy to be silent.

Tomorrow he will be six, and it feels like nothing in the world can stop him.

 

—

 

Today he is six, and he would give anything to be five again.

When he was five, he didn’t know how daddy’s breath smelled when he got that close.

When he was five, he didn’t know that daddy’s _thingie_ could stand up like that, or that daddy made funny noises when he told John to touch it and he obeyed.

When he was five, he didn’t know what daddy’s lips felt like on his.

When he was five, he didn’t know what it felt like to be flipped over and invaded suddenly and brutally, to cry and scream and be put through yet more pain as daddy kept moving.

When he was five, he had never woken up with dried blood absolutely covering his lower half.

(well, he had, but it had never come from _there_ before.)

When he was five, he didn’t know what rape was.

John turned six today, and he wishes that his birthday had never happened.

 

—

 

He’s seven, and every day he prays that angels will come and take him away from here.

His mama talks a lot about _dios_ and _Jesús_ , and also _Santa Maria y San Jose_ , and _el Espíritu Santo_ when he sees her, always mashing their names into a prayer before she sees daddy.

(the prayer also includes a lot of _joder_ and _¡ay me!_ ’s, and sometimes she calls John _que putita_.)

He tries very hard no to listen to the bad words they say, like the bigger kids at school had taught him (the same way daddy teaches him most things), but sometimes it’s hard when all the names mama and daddy call him are swears.

Mama has her own was of teaching John, usually in the kitchen, and she makes him stand in a bucket of icecubes while she cuts and burns his arms and chest until he can say all of the books of the bible, without tripping up, _en español_.

Those are the good days.

“Your mama’s fuckin’ crazy,” daddy shouts at him one day. He’s surprised John by waking up while he still had Casey out, and now he was cowering on the floor, wishing he could hide from daddy forever.

“And if you don’t stop playin’ with those damn dolls, you’re gonna end up just like her. A useless, crazy, cheapass Mexican whore.”

He jerks John up by the arm, rips Casey out of his small hands and throws her across the room, then throws John the other way, onto his tiny bed.

John stares up at the Ghostbusters poster on the ceiling when he hears daddy unzip his jeans.

“Don’t let me catch you even _lookin’_ at that stuffed lil’ shit again, ya hear me?”

He pushes in and John doesn’t respond. He’s curled up inside himself, petting the real Casey, crying and screaming silently as daddy hurts him again.

Daddy slaps him out of it. “I said do ya hear me, you useless fag!”

John nods desperately, squirming away from the pain exploding in his tummy again and again, and cries out softly. Daddy always hits him for making noise while he does this.

He’s getting used to sleeping on bloody sheets, but he still doesn’t know what that white stuff from daddy is.

He doesn’t want to know.

He is seven years old, and every single day he prays to god to let him die.

-


End file.
